colors of the heart
by queenly
Summary: Two things happen when a crooked dagger is pushed between Peter Pan's shoulder blades. One—Neverland has its first blizzard in its history. Two—Wendy Moira Angela Darling faints in line while waiting to board a flight to London. [complete.]
1. my heart was burning red

Two things happen when a crooked dagger is pushed between Peter Pan's shoulder blades.

One—Neverland has its first blizzard in its history. Two—Wendy Moira Angela Darling faints in line while waiting to board a flight to London.

* * *

Neverland's rage starts as a simmer, at first. The first warning sign is when a snowflake hits a fairy's nose in the hottest part of the island. Not a second later, two others float from the sky, and the snowfall quickens until there's a thin layer covering the jungle. The jungle cats and fairies gather at Pixie Hollow, and it takes the fairies' combined magic to form a little bubble to protect them from the growing storm.

Soon, the snow picks up with a howl, and thunder growls as the snow hits the bubble and sticks. Twin lightning bolts streak across the sky, and the next rumble of thunder is hard enough to shake the ground. The wind howls and Neverland screams its fury to the sky.

_They tried to kill our king_, the island seethes, and shadows melt into the trees to avoid the lightning that touch down on every part of the island. A mermaid is too slow to reach the underwater cave her pack has reached, and the boiling water dashes her against the rocks. Her blood stains the water red, and the seafoam is pink when it crashes against the once-white beach.

_Peter Pan is not vanquished so easily_, the island roars, and a lightning bolt splits the Thinking Tree in two, causing a fire. Despite the snow that beats against it, Neverland's magic strengthens with every drop of Peter Pan's blood and the fire rages on, razing everything in sight.

The fairies brace themselves, drained and exhausted without their magic, but the fire only melts the snow covering their bubble and circles the grass outside before moving on. The fire consumes every tree, leaving nothing but ash and Pixie Hollow behind its trail.

When it reaches a hollowed-out tree with a small bedroom in its leaves, Neverland's rage falters as images of a queen flit through its memory. _For Peter_, the flames murmur, and that is the only part of the island it willingly spares.

* * *

Wendy Darling wakes up in her hotel room, and again, her heart is too heavy for her chest. Wendy's fingertips brush against the spot where her heart pounds against its cage, fast as a hummingbird. "Peter," she whispers, and a tear drips onto her pillow, unbidden. "You promised me you'd keep it safe."

* * *

When the fire is quenched and the snow turns to a light fall instead of a howling blizzard—when Neverland's fiery fury hardens into ice—the island releases two shadows.

One used to belong to a boy whose soul Peter held firmly in his hands. The other used to belong to a queen who held both their hearts in hers.

* * *

As Peter Pan is left on the ground, with his life staining the asphalt red and feeding Neverland's magic worlds away, he gathers the strength to hiss a final curse at 'Stiltskin. "This isn't the end, 'Stiltskin. This is just the beginning."

"I don't think so," the imp replies, his crooked, bloody dagger gripped tightly in his hand. "Everyone has to die at some point, Pan. Even you."

Peter opens his mouth to reply, but all he can do is cough. He coughs so hard he chokes up blood on the asphalt road beneath him, but his thoughts scream clearly in his head. (The Dark One is made of human flesh, but Peter Pan is made from the very bones and teeth of Neverland, and one day, he will _see_—)

"Peter," a familiar voice says, and Peter lifts his head to see Wendy running toward him, dressed in the same nightgown she wore when he'd first seen him. Wendy reaches him in a few moments and kneels to the ground, cradling his face in gentle, soft hands.

"You have to run, Wendy," Peter hisses, and coughs again. The blood that stains his shirt is thick and wet and clings to his body, and when Wendy lifts his chest into her lap, her hands are scarlet when she pulls them away.

Rumplestiltskin steps forward, and Wendy's head lifts up automatically. Her eyes turn completely black for just a moment—a warning—and the Dark One steps away. "What—what _are_ you?"

Wendy ignores him and turns back to Peter, her eyes still black for a moment before they return to her normal blue. In that moment, something in Peter's chest tightens—Wendy is safe, and 'Stiltskin cannot get her. "I'm here to take you home, Peter," she whispers. "Neverland wants its king back."

She picks him up as if he is a feather and glares one last time at Rumplestiltskin. "You will regret the day you crossed Neverland," she says, and takes off. Though the stars are hidden, her shadow, just like the girl who detached her, will always know which one is the second to the right.

Peter Pan dies halfway to Neverland, but it is more than enough time for Felix's shadow to take Belle from the group of those frozen to the street. Wendy's shadow deposits Peter's corpse by the Thinking Tree, and she doesn't stay long enough to see what the island will do with its king's body.

Felix's shadow arrives hours later, and places Belle in front of the group of jungle cats. All it takes is a whisper from Neverland before her blood dyes the ash burgundy, and Neverland starts to sing as the magic of her sacrifice soaks into the beach.

It takes two days to knit skin and muscle together, to heal a broken body, to return the king to his whole self. Two days until Neverland allows itself to sigh in relief that it has succeeded again in saving its master.

When Peter Pan takes breath again, his hair is the color of chestnuts instead of golden-brown—and when he opens his eyes, they are Belle's bright blue instead of forest green.

* * *

Wendy Darling has grown used to the newfound weight in her chest. She looks forward to and fears the day when she forgets that she had ever lacked a heart. Tonight, though, it is a reminder of what she has lost.

She sits on her window seat—her brothers have tried so hard to decorate their new home in London like the home that haunts her memories, and a part of her loves and hates them for that—and tugs the window open.

The cool night air washes over her, and she tucks her knees underneath her as her eyes focus on the second star to her right. It seems to shine brighter tonight than it has the last two nights, and that makes her heart ache. "Hello," she tells the sky, and the breeze seems to caress her hair as it moves past her.

Wendy shuts her eyes, tears already brimming. "I just wanted to let you know—I'm all right. I'm not happy, but I will be, eventually. The school is so wonderful, and there are so many new things about London, I think I might satisfy my curiosity, if only for a little while."

She tells the stars all she's discovered, rambles until it's late in the night and she knows she should be going to bed. Wendy crosses the room to turn off the light, then returns to the window seat, unable to say goodbye to the place that held her heart for one hundred years.

Her heart burns red in her chest as she looks up at the sky, and this time she can't keep her face from crumpling. "Before I go—there's just one more thing, I promise. Just one more thing, one more miracle." She takes a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut, but a tear escapes despite her best efforts. "Peter, for me … don't be dead. Please. That's all I'm asking."

Footsteps outside her door make her freeze. "Wendy? Are you still awake?" John whispers. Wendy freezes on the windowsill and clutches her knees, holding her breath and listening to her pounding heart until her brother moves away.

Wendy looks back up at the second star to the right and smiles through the tears she can't keep away. _At least Felix is still all right._

That little bit of knowledge is the only thing that can reassure her as she gets off the window seat and climbs into bed, leaving her window open.

* * *

Peter hears it all. He wants to fly through her window like his shadow had, so many years before; he wants to steal her away to Neverland like nothing has changed.

But Neverland is ashes, and Rumplestsiltskin is hunting for Belle across the world. _It won't be safe for her if she knows_, a voice whispers—a voice Peter had never had before, until his eyes were blue and Belle's life had been traded for his. It is a voice of goodness, of reason, and it sounds annoyingly like 'Stiltskin's true love. _We have to protect her. If 'Stiltskin found out she knew…_

It takes several minutes for Peter to make his decision.

When he finally enters her room, Wendy is asleep, but her head faces the open window. Peter approaches her as quietly as he can, and he presses his lips together tightly as his fingers lift up slightly, trembling over her temple.

There's a new gentleness in him, a kindness that hadn't been there before Belle's sacrifice. He tells himself that that kindness is the cause for when his fingers brush a strand of hair away from her temple and smoothes it down behind her ear. Peter leans down, his lips hovering over her cheek—and then they move to her ear.

"Goodbye, Wendy-bird," he whispers, then straightens and backs away.

As he steps onto the window seat, Wendy shifts in her sleep and murmurs, "Peter, no."

He freezes and looks over his shoulder, but Wendy has only turned onto her side, her whole body facing the window now. He takes another minute to savor the moment before he turns back to the London sky and steps out the window.

When Wendy Darling wakes up, the window is locked shut, and there is no sign that Peter Pan had ever been there—except for her dream.


	2. my heart was frozen blue

Wendy never shuts her window. At first, her brothers protest, but after a week they are suddenly silent on the topic. Wendy's not sure why that is—maybe that Emma Swan woman has told them what she knew immediately—but she doesn't dare complain.

It has been three months since she stepped foot in London again, and three months since Peter Pan has died. Two months and ten days since she had wished upon the second star for Peter to live again.

Three months since her heart has taken up its rightful residence in her chest again.

Wendy walks across the dreary street, ignoring the sludge of London's early snow, and when she walks into her house she brings a gust of icy wind with her. "I'm home!" she announces, and stops in the hall when she doesn't hear a response.

John enters from the kitchen and smiles tightly. "Wendy? There's a guest here for you," he tells her, and Wendy's heart starts to pound against her ribs—her first thought is that Felix's come to fetch her, or maybe Nibs, but if it were either of them John would usher them out at gunpoint and never tell her.

Her silent question is answered when Rumplestiltskin pushes past John to come to a stop in front of her. He smiles, but his eyes are cold and remind her of the mermaids back in Neverland. "Hello, Miss Darling."

"Hello," she greets, raising her chin. (I am a _queen_ in another land, I will never bow to an _imp_—)

"A very good friend of mine has gone missing. Her name is Belle."

Wendy's chest tightens, and her mouth goes dry. She remembers Belle French—Belle had caught her crying in the park, away from her brothers and secluded under the shade of a willow tree. Belle had smiled at her, comforted her, and for the brief moment, Wendy'd felt like Belle had _understood_ her.

And then she'd heard rumors of Rumplestiltskin when John was visiting Ruby at the diners, and she'd understood why. (_We are more alike than you think, Belle_, she'd thought, and now her almost-friend is gone—)

"Who took her?"

"That's what I'm hoping you knew. Peter Pan, you see—"

"Peter Pan is dead." Wendy cuts him off without meaning to, and Rumplestiltskin's eyes narrow dangerously as he steps closer. Wendy holds her ground and lifts her chin higher, refusing to show the fear that still lingers in her bones.

"And _how_, exactly, did you know that?"

Wendy stares at him and says, "John and Michael told me."

John exchanges a glance with Michael, but her brothers say nothing to contradict her. Rumplestiltskin steps away, the suspicion in his eyes vanishing. "Well." He half-turns so he is facing all three Darlings. "If you receive any information, you know where to find me."

"I hope you find her," Wendy says, just as Rumplestiltskin rests his hand on the doorknob. "She was… kind to me."

Rumplestiltskin smiles again, and this time, a part of it does reach his eyes. "I do as well. Thank you."

When he is gone, John watches her, his eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but in confusion. "How _did_ you know he was dead, Wendy?"

Wendy half-smiles and goes upstairs without a word.

* * *

She wakes up suddenly, without meaning to; when she does, it is the middle of the night and—a pair of vivid blue eyes are watching her from the window seat.

She sits up without thinking about it, and the blue eyes disappear as the silhouette turns back to the window—"Wait!" she calls, and the figure falters, its foot on the windowsill. Wendy kicks off the covers and stands up. "Please… wait."

The figure turns back to her, and when Wendy approaches it, she can see Peter Pan's face in the moonlight. His hair is darker now, and his eyes looked different… well, they're closed now, but she _thinks_ she saw blue instead of green—but the face in front of her is still Peter Pan's. Wendy steps onto the windowsill, closing the gap between them by a few meters.

Wendy can't help the shiver that runs down her spine as she lifts her hand and brushes her fingertips across his cheek (_making sure he's real_, she tells herself, but she's never been good at lying). Her fingers feel like ice against his burning skin, but he doesn't flinch away—he doesn't move at all. "My wish came true," she whispers, and a smile spreads across her face. "I asked the stars to bring you back, and they did."

When he still doesn't move, Wendy falters, almost pulls her hand away. Peter senses her movement and grabs her hand, pressing it against his cheek again. He closes his eyes and whispers into her palm, "I shouldn't be here. You weren't supposed to wake up."

"What do you mean, you shouldn't be here?"

Peter opens his eyes, and Wendy widens hers. She _hadn't_ been imagining things—Peter's eyes were blue, now; bright and vivid and a pair of eyes that she_ knows_ she's seen before—

_Belle's eyes._

Peter's grip on her hand tightens, and he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "Neverland killed Belle, Wendy. Not me."

"Rumplestiltskin is looking for her, Peter," she whispers, her face crumpling. When she tries to pull away, Peter draws her closer. "I need to tell him she's dead—"

Peter's grip tightens on her and he narrows his eyes. "And how do you think he'll react, bird? He'll want to know how you know she's dead. He's already visited Neverland, and all he saw was ashes. If he knows I'm alive—if he knows that I've been visiting you—"

"How long?" she asks, and Peter releases her and steps away, placing his foot on the windowsill again. "No, Peter—"

"I can't stop myself," he tells her, bitterness lacing his voice. "I have this feeling, all the time, to check on you—" his upper lip curls and he shakes his head in disgust, "—to make sure you're _safe_. Well, this is the last time."

He leans away from the windowsill and looks at her. His eyes still have the same burning intensity, but every time she looks at his eyes she remembers. Memories of the woman who rubbed her back and said _don't cry it will be all right_ underneath the shade of a willow tree still linger, and tiny shards of her heart start to break at the sight.

"You can't mean that," she starts, but he cuts her off with a cold smile.

"I do. Neverland means more to me than you _ever_ will, Wendy Darling. You make me feel—and I don't like it. It's going to stop. Now. Goodbye, Wendy-bird."

Wendy screams his name when he steps off the window ledge and falls to her knees, clutching her chest as she watches his shape fly higher into the sky. She screams so loud it makes her brothers come to her door, but she refuses to tell them what is wrong.

And as the second star looms ever closer, Peter Pan tries and fails to ignore his name being called behind him. The empty space where a second heart used to reside seems to widen, imperceptibly, but he feels it as much as he'd felt a dagger drive into his back. The second star glows brighter and he can see the distant shapes of ash-gray clouds, but that doesn't stop the ache inside.

As he leaves Wendy Darling behind and returns to his home, a small, gentle voice (that _still_ sounds like Belle, despite all he's done to quash it) whispers to him in the moment of silence that follows.

_Oh, Peter, Peter, you promised her you'd keep her heart safe._


	3. my heart was shriveled black

Neverland is covered in ashes when Peter Pan steps foot on its soil again. Ice has crept over the ocean in his absence, and he can tell there was another thunderstorm from the way the ashes are dark gray rather than silver. When he lands on the beach, the ice begins to melt until there is nothing but red-tinged water stretching out for miles.

When he looks up, Pixie Hollow—the second tree on Neverland—is gone; also consumed by Neverland's rage. Fairies are no match for an island born of magic. When Peter leaves the beach and reaches what used to be jungle, Neverland doesn't show him images of fairies or mermaids or jungle cats. It shows him nothing but ashes and cinders and death.

Peter Pan is the last living thing on Neverland. Well—he, and the tree that bears Wendy's home in its branches.

If he closes his eyes, he can still hear Wendy calling his name as he flies away from Wendy. He can still see her trying to pull away from him because she saw that he had new _eyes_.

("Rumple's looking for her, Peter"—how _dare_ she take the side of the imp? How _dare_ a stupid _girl_ like Wendy Darling go against him, _Peter Pan_?)

When rage begins to simmer in his bones, he turns on his heel and strides toward the last tree on Neverland. With no jungle to weave through, it's only a few hundred feet away, and he reaches it stops in front of it and clenches his fists, calling to the island's roots deep below. Neverland's magic begins to stir, and vines begin to poke out of the ashes.

_Peter, what are you doing?_ a voice cries in his head. _Peter, no, you_made _that for her_—

"Shut _up_!" he roars, and the vines burst from the ground to wrap around the tree's base. He raises his hand, and the vines crawl up the trunk, tightening their hold. Wood cracks underneath the pressure, and he watches with a sick sense of satisfaction as the tree begins to splinter apart.

Neverland's last tree crashes to the ground, the leaves smattering green across the island's gray soil and the treehouse smashed to pieces. Glass from Wendy's lamps and figurines from other worlds is scattered among the debris, and most of the furniture is broken. All he sees is a fallen tree and ruins of an empty bedroom.

"Get rid of it," he orders, and turns away. When he waits a minute before facing the wreckage again, Wendy's bed is being sucked into the ground. Moments before it disappears forever, Peter can swear he can smell vanilla and rain—smell _her_, one last time.

Then the moment is gone, and there is no sign that Wendy Darling has ever been on Neverland. He stares at the ashes that are left behind with a small smile on his face, and pretends he doesn't hear Belle whisper _oh, Peter _in his ear.

* * *

He sits on the ashes a long time before he realizes that it's daylight again. Neverland's magic has been replenished—by Belle's blood sacrifice or by his return, he can't tell—but now it is strong enough to distinguish between night and day.

_A new heart fuels us, Peter_, the island whispers. _Our old one had two masters._

It only takes Peter a second to realize what the island speaks of, and he scowls. _My heart never belonged to that Darling girl_. When the island is silent, he stands up and fists his hands. _Do you want me to prove it?_

Neverland does not respond, and Peter plunges his hand into his chest without a second thought. The pain makes him stagger, but he does not fall to his knees. He recovers his balance and waits for the pain to become a dull ache, pounding in time to the heart he holds in his hand.

_Peter_, Belle whispers. _Peter, please, don't do this. What would Wendy think?_

Peter stares at the ashes below his feet and smiles as he pulls out his heart. _Wendy Darling means nothing to me now_, he thinks—and for the first time, the small, still voice in his head is silenced.

Though it is winter in Wendy Darling's world, Neverland will never again have another blizzard.

* * *

When Wendy Darling sits at her windowsill, clutching a piece of paper in her hands, and chants "I believe" with her eyes on the second star, she expects Neverland's shadow to fly through the window.

What she does_ not_ expect is to see her shadow climb through the window and sit on the window seat directly across from her. "Hello, Wendy," her shadow greets, prim and proper at twelve years old. "How do you do?"

Wendy takes a deep breath and holds out the letter she's written. "There's a town named Storybrooke," she tells her shadow. At the name of the town, her twelve-year-old self's upper lip curls slightly and her eyes flash black for a moment.

Then her transformation is pulled back, and Wendy's shadow is sweet, smiling and more than happy to oblige once more. She takes the letter and holds it to her heart. "And to whom shall I deliver this?"

"There's a man there, named Rumplestiltskin, but he's commonly known as Mr. Gold. He owns a shop—I'm sure you'll be able to find it. It's very important that you _aren't_ seen when you deliver this letter. Can you do that for me?"

The shadow leans forward and grabs her hand. Though she has solid form, her fingers are ice and Wendy can see black tendrils writhing underneath her skin. "Of course, Wendy. We're friends, aren't we?"

Wendy smiles and gently disentangles from her shadow's grasp. "When you've delivered the letter, I would very much appreciate it if you came back here."

"Whatever for?"

Wendy meets her shadow's gaze and forces her smile to widen. "I'd like to visit Neverland again."

* * *

Two things happen the next morning.

One—Rumplestiltskin receives a letter of six words (_Belle is dead I'm so sorry_) and closes his shop for the rest of the week. Two—Wendy's shadow reluctantly grabs the hand of a sixteen-year-old girl with dying stars in her eyes, and takes her to Neverland for a third and final time.

* * *

Her shadow had told her what to expect, but Wendy Darling had not expected a wasteland instead of a jungle. Neverland's soil has been cleared of all remaining ash, but there are no trees, no grass; no sign of life, _anywhere_.

The second thing she notices is that it's daytime on the island. The last time she saw daylight in Neverland was ninety years ago, before Neverland's magic began to fade.

When Wendy Darling steps foot on Neverland for the third time, she can see a silhouette of Peter Pan across the island, standing on Dead Man's Peak, which is miles away from the beach.

The moment she looks up at him, she_ knows_ that he looks down at her—and when she blinks, he is gone. "Well, well, well," a cruel voice she'd recognize anywhere taunts, and Wendy half-turns to see Peter standing before her, a malicious smirk on his face. "If it isn't Wendy Darling. Can't get enough of me, can you? The moment you're free you come flying back."

"What did you do to Neverland?" Wendy asks. The soil shifts in front of her, revealing a sharp bone poking out of the ground, and her stomach churns at the sight.

Peter laughs, though there is no humor in his voice, and his blue eyes look unnatural in the light. "What have _I_ done? Neverland did this to _itself_. It wanted a fresh start. What are you doing here, Darling?"

Wendy clenches her fists, refusing to show her fear of this new Peter—this new Peter with Belle's eyes, who looks at her as if she_bores_ him; this Peter who has none of the qualities that make up _her_Peter. "I—I—where are the other Lost Boys?"

Peter's smirk transforms into a snarl in half a second. "The traitors are back in Storybrooke, with their new homes and families to love them. They're nothing to me now."

She swallows hard and blinks away the tears forming behind her eyes. "What about Felix? He'd never leave you, Peter, I know it—"

"I killed him," Peter says, shrugging. Wendy takes a step back, the lump in her throat expanding. Her mouth goes dry and she can feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. He can't mean that. He can't—"I needed his heart for the curse. It's a shame it didn't work out, but I always knew I'd have to dispose of him eventually."

"Why?" she gasps. Her legs feel like jelly and she sits down on the black soil, a headache pounding in time with the heart that still doesn't belong in her chest. _Felix, oh, Felix—after all this time, I thought you were all right…_

Peter crouches next to her, a feral grin on his face. Tears brim in Wendy's eyes, but she refuses to cry. Not in front of him. "Does it hurt?" he whispers, a savage glee in his voice. "He's dead, all because of you—"

Wendy doesn't think before she slaps him. Peter catches her arm, and Wendy releases the sob she'd been holding in her throat and a tear falls to the ground. "You're a monster," she screams, and wrenches her arm away from her grasp. Already, a handprint-shaped bruise is beginning to form, and Wendy scrambles to her feet. "I don't beli—"

Peter gets to his feet and clasps a hand to her mouth, pressing his lips against her ear. "Shh, Wendy." He tilts her head toward the ground, where she had been sitting, and Wendy stops struggling.

A small sapling—it could only reach Wendy's knees at most—stands there, quivering in the wind and miniature leaves already unfurling from its paper-thin branches. Peter releases her and walks toward the sapling, crouching in front of it. "This is a pixie tree," he says, and whirls around to face her. "How did you do that?"

"I didn't—I didn't do anything," she whispers, taking a step back. The wind caresses her back, and she can swear that the breeze murmurs her name as it passes her. "I don't know what happened."

Peter vanishes and reappears in front of her. He reaches up to cup the back of her head, and Wendy doesn't move. She stands unmoving as his other hand comes up and he brushes his thumb across her cheek, where her unwilling tears are still drying. Wendy watches him pull his hand away and flick his thumb. Her tear that clung to his thumb falls away and lands on the ground, where the island soaks it up.

It only takes another moment before a small twig sprouts from the ground, twisting, unfurling—and the end result is another pixie tree sapling. Peter sucks in a breath and glances back at her, releasing her head and stepping away. Wendy doesn't wait for him to say something—she turns on her heel and runs.

His laughter echoes at her back, but she can hear the tinge of nervousness that taints his taunts. That fact is what keeps her going until the sun is on the verge of setting and she cannot see the beach any longer.

She keeps walking until she reaches the base of Dead Man's Peak, then collapses against the charred stone. The wind brushes her hair away from her face, and she can feel the ground quiver underneath her.

She looks down at the soil pressing into her hands and takes a deep breath. _Neverland?_

The voice that replies scares and soothes her. It's an echo of a woman's voice in three tones; a voice she feels that she should know, but the memory eludes her. _Wendy-bird_, the island sighs, and another breeze tickles her face. _We've been waiting for you to return home_.

The island whispers its story in her ear, and Wendy stays awake through it all, even though night has fallen and the moon is high in the sky. It ends with Belle's death and Peter's resurrection, and then its silence hangs heavy in the air.

_So Peter doesn't feel anymore_, she thinks. _That's why he's so different_.

Neverland sighs, a tinge of sadness in the sound. Instead of answering, the soil in front of her pulls away to reveal a dark shape the size of her fist. It's almost completely black, but when she picks it up and turns it over in her hand—there is a large, bleeding gash down the center of the heart which pulses with scarlet light.

Her breath catches in her throat as she examines Peter Pan's heart in her hands, but before she can reply, Peter Pan's voice echoes across the empty island. "What are you doing, Darling?"

Wendy slowly gets to her feet and holds the heart close to her chest. _I'm keeping your heart safe, Peter_, she thinks, and lifts her chin. "Peter, come here."

His eyes seem to glow in the darkness, but he's powerless to disobey her. He approaches her until they are inches apart and she has to put a hand on his chest to stop him. Peter's eyes are on her face, not his heart, and Wendy smiles at him as she puts his heart in his rightful place.

Peter lurches away from her and doubles over, leaning on the rock next to him for support as he paws at his chest and coughs. Wendy approaches him when his coughing fit finishes. Before she can walk around to face him, his hand shoots out and seizes her wrist, and Peter looks up at her.

His eyes are still blue, but they are no longer cold. Peter straightens and faces her, pulling her to him. "You came back. Why?"

Wendy takes a deep breath and meets his gaze. "You promised me you'd keep my heart safe. I needed to make sure that you wouldn't break it."

Peter raises his hand and strokes her cheek, but there is nothing gentle in the gesture. "You're mine, Wendy-bird."

Wendy shuts her eyes and lifts her head. "I know." I am a queen, she thinks, and opens her eyes to brush her fingers against his face. "And you are mine, Peter Pan."

Peter's eyes burn blue instead of green as he grins, but she can swear that there's something in his eyes that hadn't been there before. It's not quite love—but it is awfully close to something like it, and that's enough for her. She, of all people, knows that Peter Pan cannot love, or even _feel _anything _close_ to love.

_You're wrong, Wendy bird, _the island whispers in her ear, and there is glee in its voice. _He does feel_.

_He feels for you_.


End file.
